


Haikyuu Soulmate!au's

by just_j



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_j/pseuds/just_j
Summary: A collection of soulmate!au's with various Haikyuu characters!





	1. Bokuto Koutarou - Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> In which you and your soulmate share matching tattoos

You were unsure about the whole soulmate thing when your mother had finally explained to you what the dark ink on your back meant. You’d seen and heard of plenty of people who lived happily ever after with theirs but there were just as many unhappy endings or even people who never found their ‘other half’. Most people purposefully left their tattoo visible, in hopes to allow their match to catch a glimpse of it. Others were considered unlucky if it was somewhere difficult to show off. One thing you were sure about, however, was that _your_ soulmate tattoo was something that you’ve never particularly flaunted. Not on purpose anyways.

It was the biggest soulmate tattoo you’d ever seen, on anyone, and to make matters worse; it spanned almost the entirety of the skin on your back. A place people rarely left bare. The only time you ever caught your eyes wandering looking for the mate was at the beach, which you rarely visited. Some part of you even avoided it so you didn’t have to experience the embarrassment that accompanied leaving you own back bare for people to gawk at.

You wanted to find him—really, you did. Yet you kept it covered on yourself. It would have been easy to wear open-backed clothing to let it show but…the tattoo dwarfed you. People rudely stared, whispered; either sneers of “How has she not found him yet with that thing to look for??” or comments of pity that your body was tarnished by something so massive.

Other people might think that but not you. You didn’t hide it because you didn’t like it, you hid it because people couldn’t keep their opinions about it to themselves. You admired it in the mirror after you would shower; not only was it the biggest one you’d ever seen, but also one of the most intricate.

Two folded wings protruding from your shoulder blades, the tips of them ending just below your waistline; the feathers looking like you could pluck any one of them right off you. You really did love the wings on your back—at your lowest moments you would stand in the mirror and stare at them; they made you feel like you could take off and leave whatever was bothering you behind. You would love this tattoo even if you ended up not loving whoever shared them with you, or never found them.

So, how was it that in the three years of being the Fukurodani Boys Volleyball Club’s manager you’d never stumbled upon any of the members without a shirt on before today? Sure, it was a hotter than normal day, nothing too extreme though—but out of the blue half the team was shirtless when you returned after filling the water bottles halfway through practice.

The sound of the water bottles all clattering to the floor resonated through the gym as your eyes flocked to the unmistakable tattoo adorning Bokuto’s back.

Wings. Beautiful and intricate wings. The matching pair to your own. Except his looked magnificent as he jumped to spike, shifting along with his muscles—like they could unfurl to their full glory at any minute.

For three years he had been _right in front of you_. The easily excited, wonderful, and kind Ace that in any situation could make you smile. You joined the same year he did and have watched him become one of the top 5 Ace’s in the country. How…how had you never seen his tattoo before? Your brain was having difficulty processing the amount of information and emotions flooding you in the time it took for him to land from his spike.

Practice came to a halt and all eyes turned to you—worried expressions strewn across the boys faces. You couldn’t figure out why until you remember you dropped all of the water bottles on the floor and hadn’t made any movement to start picking them up; body frozen in shock from what you’ve just discovered. They rush to you, offering to help and picking up ones that have rolled away.

You become a stuttering mess. “I’m okay! It’s fine! You guys just go back to practice; I’m fine—really. Sorry I interrupted,” your protesting becomes more intense the closer Bokuto gets to you. You can barely _look_ at him, much less the tattoo on his back, too afraid you’ll be painfully obvious about why you’d dropped the bottles in the first place.

“It’s not like you to drop things, (Y/N),” Akaashi points out. You fight the urge to glare at him. Does he really need to employ his keen observation skills right now?

Bokuto steps closer and you instinctively take a step back from him; a reaction he definitely notices and is confused by. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little flushed. Do you need to sit down?” Your cheeks were stained a light hue of pink which he blamed on the fact it was a thousand degrees outside and you were still wearing your team jacket. It didn’t even cross his mind that it was a _blush_ that was about to explode into a crimson color if he got any closer to you.

You threw up your hands, hoping for some barrier between you and him. “I’m fine, I promise! Please—please continue practice.”

Thankfully, they return to running their drills and you’re able to gather your thoughts and calm down a bit. Once practice is over, you muster some semblance of acting normal and hand them towels to wipe off with. Your gaze constantly drifting to stare at Bokuto’s back, wondering how you were ever going to reveal to him that you have the mate to his tattoo.

You briefly feared what he would think when he found out. Would he be disappointed it was you? In the three years you’d known each other, you hadn’t gotten the slightest inkling he’d ever looked at you as more than a friend. Would he be unable to see you any differently? But, your logic caught up to you. This was Bokuto you were talking about. What was the point in waiting any longer?

“That’s quite the soulmate tattoo, Bo. I can’t believe I haven’t seen it before,” you say nonchalantly. It wasn’t weird to talk about it, especially since he was clearly comfortable having it be in plain sight.

He was used to comments like that. All his life this tattoo had been a statement, but he loved it nonetheless. He twisted excitedly to try and see it, a beaming smile across his face. “It’s cool isn’t it?? Sometimes I wish I could play shirtless in games just to show it off!”

You chuckle. You wish you felt the same about the matching pair of wings hiding beneath your clothes.

“You know…” he stared off absentmindedly. “I bet my soulmates wings look beautiful on them.” He thought about it more often than he’d like to admit. Your heart almost burst at those words, holding back tears of joy threatening to start welling in your eyes. There had been days you’d hated the wings on your back.

“What’s your soulmate tattoo?” He asked so casually you were at a loss for words for a moment. That wasn’t really something people asked each other, especially if someone’s wasn’t easily visible. “We all know each other’s,” he said gesturing to the team.

_Well, of course you do Bo. You change in the club room together._

“And we’ve wondered what yours is,” he said. He wasn’t shy to admit they’d thought about it! Particularly since none of them had ever caught on glimpse of yours. It ruled those of them that had visible ones out immediately; Akaashi’s was on his upper forearm, Saru’s on his calf. Bokuto had always wondered if your back had wings like his did, as he wondered with everyone.

“Bokuto!” Komi exclaims embarrassed at Bokuto’s total outing of the entire team.

A full-blown blush flourishes across your face at his statement. They had discussed what yours could be? Did that mean any of them hoped it was the same as theirs? Did he?

You don’t know how to reply to him. How do you just drop this information on someone? Especially when the rest of the team is doing nothing to hide the fact they are completely eavesdropping. “Oh…um…” You stumble for words, trying to muster the courage to say _anything_. He just stared at you, golden eyes pinning you where you stood. His earnest gaze spurred you to steel your resolve—when else would you tell him?

“Oh, what the hell,” you breathed. His eye brows furrowed as you turned your back to him, the sound of the zipper of your jacket filling the silence that had fallen on the room. It must have been fate, to find him today since you’d boldly decided to wear only a sports bra under your jacket, so when you slipped it from your shoulders and let it hang on your elbows, he could see the design on your back. It might be covered by some strips of fabric, but he would recognize those wings anywhere.

You quickly shrugged the jacket back on and he almost protested. He wanted to stare at them for hours, trace his fingers along the lines, tell you just how much he’d thought about the matching pair of wings somewhere out in the world; until he fully processed you were standing in front of him—that you had been for three years.

He looked as if his brain had shut off, just blankly staring at you as you turned around to face him. You leaned closer to his face and waved a hand lightly, “Bo…?” This was not exactly what you were expecting. Not from him at least.

He blinked, realizing you were much closer to him than you were before. The gears started turning again and his arms reached out to gather you against his chest—completely forgetting he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I was right,” he said.

“What?”

“They look beautiful on you.”


	2. Kuroo Tetsurou - Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which you and your soulmate share matching tattoos

Yeah, you would admit you were glad that you’d been partnered with Kuroo. Behind all that snarkiness and wit he usually displayed, you had a suspicion he was actually probably one of the smartest people in the class and this project dictated your final grade. You were going to be working closely together for the next couple months, so you couldn’t help it when you looked for his soulmate tattoo. Might as well get that off the table as soon as possible.

You pressed your lips into a firm line when he sauntered over wearing the University’s volleyball team jacket. Arms were one of the most common locations for tattoos and also where yours happened to be. You brushed it off, it didn’t matter much anyways. Either you’d see it eventually or you wouldn’t; that’s how it went.

Upon approaching you, his lips curved into a smirk that you’d noticed he liked to use a lot. Not that you’d admit it out loud, but he was fascinating to observe whenever you got bored in class. He was striking— unruly midnight black hair that you couldn’t figure out if he styled it that way or just woke up like that and sharp golden eyes that had convinced you he was smarter then he let on.

“Looks like we’re stuck together.” He placed his palms on the table leaning toward you, that smirk still on his face.

Oh yes—the other thing you found interesting about him. His constant air of confidence and charm that had girls melting into puddles whenever he spoke to them. Yet, he either didn’t notice or care that half the girls in your year had secret crushes on him. Some of them sneaking glares at you as you answered, “Looks like it.”

“I think you’ll find I’m the best you could have hoped for,” he said, testing the waters with you. Considering you weren’t becoming a blushing stuttering mess at his first words, not blatantly looking for his tattoo, you were something of an enigma to him. A scoff escaped you. He might be right, but you weren’t a bad partner either; probably the best _he_ could have hoped for in return. He prodded a bit further, “I’m practically a chemistry god, you know.”

He hid the thrill that rushed through him when your eyebrow quirked up in interest. “Well then, _chemistry god_ ,” you stood so that he wasn’t towering quite so much over you, folding your arms across your chest. “Are you going to ask me for my number or what?”

“Oh-ho-ho, so forward of you.”

That earned him an eye roll. “For the _project_ dummy.” You held out your phone to him, your other hand gesturing for him to give you his. After you exchanged numbers, he found himself unable to look away from you as you exited the room. Not until you were out of sight did he realize he hadn’t looked for your tattoo at all. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the part that fell in front of his face; loosing a breathy sigh. This was going to be an interesting semester.

* * *

He was in deep shit. And sinking deeper—fast. He’d known from the minute he met you but, in the weeks since becoming partners it was now _painfully_ obvious to him how much he liked you. Beautiful and smart—so _fucking_ smart; it turned him on whenever you’d start talking about something new you had learned or a new idea you had. You didn’t hold back your thoughts around him, quick to return sarcastic remarks to his own and _god_ —he swore you were everything he wanted.

But damn you to hell; you kept your arms covered around him. The tattoos were like the elephant in the room. Neither of you wanting to burst the nice bubble you’d found yourselves in; too afraid to ruin everything with the simple fact that the marks on your bodies weren’t the same. Life was sometimes cruel like that and neither of you wanted to face it. Or, the somehow worse option, that the other didn’t feel the same way. That it wouldn’t matter to them if the tattoos were different.

So, you went on like that. Keeping your arms covered, hoping the feelings might pass once the project was over.

It was another late night at the library together, something you two had been doing more often lately. Even after you were finished working on the project, you stayed to study together; both wanting to spend more time in the others presence, even if it was slightly torturing. He was drawing out some reactions on the whiteboard while you sat at the table working on some other class; a comfortable silence in the study room. It felt natural to him coexisting in the same space as you.

He had a growing problem however. He was _dying_ in this stuffy room, like they’d forgotten to turn the air conditioning on today and it was becoming increasingly unbearable. He snuck a glance at you, your eyes focused on the computer in front of you, seemingly unbothered by the heat.

It would be fine, wouldn’t it? He could just slip his sweatshirt off and turn back around without you even noticing.

The minute he made the motion to pull the sweatshirt off, your eyes flicked upwards in surprise while his face was covered. His t-shirt riding up to reveal his toned mid-riff was certainly a nice view, but you were far more interested in scanning his arms for any sign of black ink.

Well, he had been wrong. When he got his sweatshirt off, he found you staring at him wide-eyed. A little embarrassed, he quickly shoved his t-shirt back down giving you a sheepish smile. You weren’t looking at him though; not his face at least. Your attention was fixated on his left arm— _shit, had you seen?_

Your body moves before your brain catches up, hand lashing out to grab his forearm and tug him closer; eyes never leaving the part of his upper arm just barely covered by his sleeve. You’d caught a glimpse…and it was in the same place as yours. It might crush you, but you had to see; a little sick of tiptoeing around it any longer.

He thought you might hear his thundering heart in the deafening silence as your other hand shakily reached to lift the sleeve further. Your heart stilled. Three small filled in triangles stacked vertically on his upper arm. Identical to yours. Immediately you look away, your hands letting go of his shirt to cover your face.

He knows just from your reaction and he’s finding it difficult to breathe. Has fate really been that kind to him? Did he really fall in love with his soulmate without even knowing it?

“Do you want to say it or should I?”

You whip to face him. You didn’t even tell him that yours matches his, he just assumes? He’s looking at you so carefully and hopefully that you’re short circuiting trying to figure out just where this is going. Did he…feel the same way you did?

“I didn’t say ours were the same,” you blurt, strangely panicking at the way he’s reacting to this new information.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t think I need to see.” He wants you to know how overjoyed he is; that he’s been thinking about what it would be like to get to hold you, kiss you, and call you his. He leans closer to brush a stray stand of hair from your face with every intention of showing you just how he feels.

Full-blown panic sets in. Fear constricts you, causing you to abruptly stand from your chair and back away from his advancing form. “I need to—I need to go,” you hurriedly stuff your things into your backpack, saying probably the worst thing you possibly could at the moment. You just didn’t know what to do now that what you’d been hoping actually came true, especially since Kuroo seemed to have hoped the same thing.

You rushed from the study room and he flinched at the door slamming. You might as well have just gutted him with that reaction. He sank roughly into his own chair and slammed his fists on the table before curling his fingers angrily into his hair. His face felt hot from embarrassment that he’d assumed you felt the same about him. He really…had really thought you would return his feelings. Thought he’d been interpreting you correctly.

He’d been stupid to think it was that easy.

* * *

What the fuck was wrong with you? Why had you responded in that way, when all you’d dreamt about for the past month was what exactly that messy hair would feel like tangled in your fingers or how his lips would feel against yours?

When you got back to your dorm, your roommate shot up from her desk. “Oh my god, what’s wrong (Y/N)? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“It’s him,” you choked out, holding back angry sobs.

Her eyebrows furrowed before realization set in. “Kuroo?” You nodded weakly. “So, what’s the problem? You have a major crush on him.” You sink into your shared futon and rest your face in your shaking hands. “Were you…just _with him_?”

“I really fucked up.”

She sighed, crouching in front of you and taking your hands into her own. “You’re really an idiot sometimes. You like him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then— _fix it_.”

* * *

Your roommate has to practically shove you out the door the next morning. You didn’t want to confront him, see what damage you’d done to your relationship. You don’t say anything as you sit next to him; this conversation is going to be a lot longer than the time you have before class starts.

However, that may not have been the best choice. You’re unknowingly ripping his heart out _again_ by sitting so rigidly and silent beside him—annoying him by having the audacity to wear long sleeves. To him, you clearly don’t want to be there. By the end of class, he’s fuming. Why haven’t you said anything? Made any effort to explain what exactly happened last night? So, when class finishes, he crudely grabs his bag and storms off.

Fine. You don’t want to talk about it? Neither did he then.

You sit frozen in shock at his outburst. What the hell were you going to say to fix this? Your shock only lasts a moment before your fists are clenching and you go after him, having to practically jog to catch up to his long-legged stride. You try to get in front of him so that he stops, but he doesn’t, his pace not slowing as he brushes past you.

You struggle to keep up. “Kuroo.” He doesn’t acknowledge you. “Kuroo, please.” In desperation, you wrap your hand around his wrist and physically stop him. “Please let me explain.”

“What more is there to say?” He says a bit more harshly then he would have liked.

You close your eyes slowly, accepting that you deserved that retort. “Please.”

He concedes. His eyes lock onto a door nearby, ironically a supplies closet, and pulls you towards it; glad to find the knob turns when he tries it. Once inside you take an uneasy breath. You hadn’t planned anything to say—you probably should have.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what happened to me.”

He doesn’t respond. Those words weren’t exactly encouraging.

Your hand grips your left arm where your tattoo is, trying to draw any sort of strength you could from it. “Not that it matters to you now…but…I…I do have the same tattoo.” He just blinks. Your heart is sinking slowly into your stomach; this isn’t going well. “I just…sort of panicked.”

“Why?” He can barely speak. He wanted you. He didn’t understand your reaction at all; he actually thought you might have liked him too. “Do you not want me?”

His words barely process. Not…want him? The words feel wrong in your mind. “Is that how it came off?” You breathe. A laugh bubbles up from your chest and you look up at him and he is _not_ finding this a laughing matter. You stifle it and step closer apologetically placing a hand on his chest. “No! No. I wanted it to be you…and when I saw your tattoo and the way you were acting, I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.” You’re too embarrassed to look up from his chest.

“You wanted it to be me?”

A slight nod from you. “Yes.” A scoff, “Desperately.”

Warmth floods him. And unlike you he’s going to deal with his overwhelming emotions in a much different way. A sly smirk rises to his lips. “You know a lot of my project partners hope that it’s me.”

You know it’s a joke, him attempting to lighten the mood. You roll your eyes and chuckle lightly. “Sure, Kuroo.” Then you raise your head to meet his gaze. “But I’m sure none of them had you hoping the same in return.”

He can’t help but smile. “Nope,” he says, lifting his hands to cup your face, relishing this moment.

“Are you going to kiss me now or what,” you quip.

He takes that invitation gladly, ducking his head to press his lips to yours. Finding pure joy in the way your body arches to press against him, your fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. It’s a slow and lazy kiss, like he wants to drag it out at long as possible and it leaves you a little breathless when he pulls away.

“Well now that that’s the cheesiest thing to ever happen, shall we go?” You make a move for the door only to be thwarted by his hand reaching out to keep it shut, the other snaking around your waist.

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he hums against your lips. You happily miss your next class.


	3. Tsukishima Kei - Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which you and your soulmate share each other's pain

You vaguely remembered the feelings against your hands and forearms when you were younger, but it was much softer back then and far less noticeable. You didn’t think much of them until they ramped up in intensity during high school and you became fixated on figuring out just exactly  _what_  your soulmate was up to that was inflicting such strange injuries. You could never quite figure it out until you happened to watch one of your high school’s volleyball matches and connected the way you were feeling with what your eyes could see. It started to make sense; every receive, spike, and block—you felt.

Though it was almost impossible to match up the feelings with what any of the players were doing. It took a while before you were completely convinced that none of the players on your high school’s team were your soulmate. And while attending games painfully reminded you constantly that your soulmate was somewhere  _else_ , you wanted to learn about the game for their sake. I mean—you  _had_  been smart enough to at least figure out some aspect about them, might as well use that information to learn about something they seemingly enjoyed. Other than the volleyball related injuries, they didn’t inflict much else on you.

You’d also been able to discern that whoever they were was a middle blocker. It became apparent to you when you noticed the players in that position getting their fingers jammed, as you often dealt with, as a result of some nasty spikes. You watched the players at your school tape up their fingers and soon started doing the same to alleviate the pain; garnering weird looks when you passed any of the volleyball club members in the hallway.

It was really just a nuisance at this point, something you had learned to live with—honestly, you’d be worried if the feelings suddenly disappeared. On several occasions, there were exceptionally painful jams that had you biting back a yelp of pain and cursing whoever the universe had tethered to you for playing this near finger-breaking game.

The injuries were almost exclusively reserved for after school, seldom beforehand, and normally the worst times were during tournaments. If the frequency of injuries suddenly skyrocketed, you figured it was a pretty safe bet that whoever was at a tournament. If you could, you usually tried to keep your own injuries to a minimum so they could play to their best ability. It was the least you could do to give them a break from the endless minor wounds you received from your own clumsiness.  

Tsukki, on the other hand, while what he inflicted on you was concentrated around volleyball; had to deal with your small scrapes and burns constantly. “I swear, they’re the clumsiest person on the planet,” he muttered to Yamaguchi upon wincing at yet  _another_  scrape on his knee from your doing. His kneepads always rubbed the wounds uncomfortably and he’d forgotten to bring his usual supply of band-aids he carried with him for this particular reason.

“They’re probably not a big fan of your volleyball playing either,” Yamaguchi nodded to his currently taped fingers.

He scoffed. “Well at least I don’t have two left feet.”

Something he had noticed, however, was since high school; the number of scrapes on his palms substantially declined. As if whoever you were had picked up on the fact he  _needed_  his hands and were trying to be helpful in that regard. He also noticed he rarely got a  _new_  injury during games. Like you purposefully stayed as still as possible for his sake, as if to not inflict anything fresh while he was in the process of hurting  _you_. He couldn’t be sure; but that seemed too coincidental to be an accident. He had the feeling you were observant of his own injuries, ones that occurred at similar times after school or during tournaments and were mindful of them.

He hated to admit that he appreciated that.

Since you started University, you hadn’t been able to attend enough matches yet to determine if any of the volleyball players were possibly your soulmate. You did have the brief thought to get more involved with the team to make it easier, but strangely the terrifying idea that your soulmate  _was_  on the team, scared you away. It had almost taken you a year and a half in high school to determine they weren’t on that team, but now that you had the possibilities narrowed down to middle blockers, you figured it wouldn’t take you as long to get a definite answer or not.

Yet, strangely, for all your thinking and observing over the years—you never thought to look at the team that your University was playing. Because why would you?

You were no stranger to the chanting and cheering of the crowd accompanied by the intermittent sound of a volleyball being hit and spiked. The constant sensation of your palms stinging and arms feeling like they were going to be torn off pushed to the back of your thoughts as you focused on the players you had already determined as the middle blockers in the last game you went to when you abruptly cried out in pain.

Blinding, excruciating agony shot through your middle and ring finger. You clutched your hand hissing, “ _Fuck!_ ”

Sitting beside you, your roommate, who didn’t know the reason  _why_  you were obsessed with volleyball, glanced over in confusion. “What’s wrong?” You tried shooing them away, but tears were pricking at your eyes as your fingers throbbed. “What happened?” They prompted again. You couldn’t collect your thoughts; your mind was reeling—the ball had been on  _your_  school’s side of the court. It had been  _your_  school attacking, which meant the only possible culprit for your currently aching fingers was someone on the  _opposing_  team.

“Hey look,” your roommate said. “Some kid on the other team is hurt.”

Your head whipped upwards, almost smacking your friend in the chin with it. Down on the court, the towering blonde of a middle blocker with glasses on the opposing team was standing on the sideline cradling his hand. The same one you were. You thought you might topple out of your chair in shock; you hadn’t by any means had any intention of actually  _finding_  your soulmate today.

But— _fuck_ , as much as your head was swimming with this new information; the main thing on your mind was the unbearable pain coursing through your hand. How could he stand to inflict this kind of hurt willingly on himself? And for that matter, knowingly inflict it on his soulmate too!

“Your hand!” Your friend gasped, dragging you back to the reality that your  _soulmate_  was right in front of you. They tenderly took your hand into yours to inspect it. “What did you—” their gaze followed yours that was currently fixated on the blonde middle blocker and they put the pieces together. “Holy shit.” You yelped when they gripped your hand a little too hard in excitement. “This is why you wanted to come to all the volleyball games?”

“I—ugh,” you huffed. “Yeah. I figured out a while ago that they played. But  _jesus_ ,” you sucked in a breath to try and deal with the pain. “This is one of the worst jams they’ve ever gotten.”

Your eyes trailed him exiting the gym, presumably to first aid who would take a closer look at his fingers and probably tape them up properly. There was a part of you that hoped he’d be benched for the rest of the match so you, and he, wouldn’t get hurt any further. You vaguely wondered if you should follow suit since you now had the  _same_  injury, but balked at the idea of meeting him that way.

“So…you’re going to introduce yourself, right? I mean, you know exactly who he is now. And when are you going to get another chance?”

Your heart seized up with anxiety. “Um, how would I even do that?” You turned to your friend. “’ _Hi how are your fingers? Oh yeah, mine too, thanks by the way!’_ ”

They just narrowed their eyes at you and stuck out their tongue. “Oh, come on. You can’t just let him slip through your fingers!”

You held up your handed with the jammed fingers bent in an unnatural direction. “I don’t think I could catch him if I tried,” you joked, a smirk gracing your lips.

“That was terrible.”

Now it was your turn to stick your tongue out.

The middle blocker didn’t come back until the end of the final set and wasn’t put back in; much to you, and your fingers, relief. When the match ended, your friend hauled you up from your seat and dragged you towards the exit by your uninjured hand. Stumbling behind them, you tried to protest, “I have no idea what to even say! I’ll figure out another way, please let go!”

“Nope. No running away.”

“Oh my  _god_ , you soulmate  _freak_ , for the love of—” your foot slipped on the stairs and before you knew it, the world was tumbling around you and without thinking you threw your hands out in front of you to catch yourself. You’d tried to train that tendency out of you, to limit the number of scrapes you inflicted on his palms, but your instincts took over without letting your brain catch up. Pain almost  _worse_  than the initial injury shot up your arm and this time you couldn’t hold back the yell that lifted from your throat. One that was met by a similar one from down the hall.

Tsukki didn’t expect to hear a match to his cry of pain when his fingers felt like they were getting  _re-jammed_. He jerked up in surprise to survey the crowd in the hallway, his attention grabbed by someone’s head popping up near the staircase and looking around in confusion.

Your eyes meet and immediately he knows that you also know, if your expression is anything to go by. He doesn’t move, letting the flow of the crowd break around him, wondering if you’re going to approach him.

You don’t. You’re frozen in fear. He clearly knows who—or rather,  _what_  the two of you are and is allowing you to make the first move. Even though you’ve thought about what you would say for years now, your throat feels tight and you know any attempt at words would be futile. It doesn’t get any better when he starts to move towards you.

He towers above you, even if this wasn’t the situation, he would be intimidating. The first words out of his mouth are, “So  _you’re_  the klutz I’m always patching up my knees for.”

You’re taken aback by his provoking tone at first, but then retort, “Oh, please, Mr. I jam my fingers every other fucking day.” Then you shake your hand in his direction. “Thanks for this!”

He chuckles, and you’re unable to tell if its in a mocking way or a harmlessly amused one. “Shouldn’t you probably go to first aid? They patched me up quite nicely.” He holds up his bandaged hand.

While Tsukishima Kei was exuding the pinnacle of aloofness to you, he couldn’t help the nerves roiling beneath the surface. While he’d become quite aware of his confrontational behavior in high school and mainly limited it to Kageyama and Hinata; when he was feeling out of his element it was easy to resort to it. Though he was fascinated that you didn’t seem to be fazed.

“A genius suggestion,” you snorted, waving your injured hand haphazardly. “Except for the fact I don’t know  _where it is_.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

You blinked.

Tsukki withheld his groan. You weren’t making this easy. “Would you like me to  _take you_?”

You just stared.

“Oh, um, sure—thank you…?” You prompted. 

He inclined his head towards the direction of first aid. “It’s Tsukishima Kei.” He then looked at you expectantly for your name.

You gave it to him.


End file.
